Trade
by Megzkie
Summary: When he fears for his mother's safety, Draco Malfoy is forced to go to Harry Potter for help. But at what cost?
1. Barter

Warnings: **PG-13 AU /**1** BG**2

Though I've tried to keep this as canon as possible, this story is not truly HBP compliant because I haven't read the book. Honestly, I've only read books one thru three.  
Get over it and enjoy the story. Or bugger off.

1**/** (slash)  
2**BG** (bad grammar)

* * *

Harry Potter grumbled next to Ron Weasley, both sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table. "It's not fair."

Ron, snapping his attention away from something, looked confusedly at his friend. "Woah?"

"I said--" Harry shook his head as Ron's gaze flickered a bit towards Lavender Brown. "Never mind,"

Ron was too distracted by attractive classmates to listen to him. All Harry was going to do was whinge on to Ron about things neither of them could fix, anyway, so he left him to alternately staring at girls and being chastised by Hermione who claimed he was being womanising.

Harry looked around him. It was the Welcoming Feast and the Great Hall was buzzing loudly with various conversations that somehow fit together to make a uniform hum. It was almost calming, being surrounded by tonnes of garbled words without being their target, as it was the beginning of the year and the rumour mill hadn't quite powered up yet. After all, no one really believed anything the _Daily Prophet_ said about him, not since fifth year.

Harry's eyes continued to trail about the room, sticking on a flash of pale hair. Luna Lovegood, who seemed to be oddly omniscient at the weirdest times, waved at him without looking up from her inverted issue of the _Quibbler_. He smiled and swept his eyes behind her, eyes catching again on pale hair. This time, though their eyes snapped up at him, the person to whom they belonged didn't offer a friendly wave. Instead, Draco Malfoy's face winced in a sneer.

Harry looked down at his plate and decided again that it's not fair. Nothing right now was, generally speaking. Particularly speaking, Harry decided it's not fair that he and Draco Malfoy couldn't just be school boy rivals who spat on each other in the hallways. It's not fair that they had to be nemesis' who could potentially kill each other at any given moment.

And that's what really got Harry the most. Not the Malfoy problem, specifically, but that he knew his enemies, that many of them were classmates and most were their parents. If he were in the Royal Army he'd be fighting nameless, faceless enemies in foreign lands, who didn't even speakthe same language as he. But here, in the Wizarding World, he was fighting names, faces, personalities. Perhaps it wouldn't be that hard to fire a curse at Bellatrix Lestrange or Peter Pettigrew, but it would be crippling to fire a curse at Lucius Malfoy, despite the fact that Harry detested him, because Lucius Malfoy was the father of a boy who would've been Harry's friend, had they shook hands.

Harry tried to stop thinking about it. He pushed his plate away, not hungry.

Hermione nudged him. "Harry, you have to eat." She scolded.

"I know, Hermione, I'm just feeling a bit peaky." Harry eased.

Hermione went on to ask several questions about what specifically was wrong, thinking he was ill. Ron tore his gaze away from a pretty, blonde seventh year briefly to point out to Hermione that Harry didn't need her to mother him. Hermione responded by calling him insensitive, and a fight ensued.

Ginny yelled something at him from a few seats down the table, but he couldn't understand her, and smiled as a response, hoping she hadn't asked him a question.

Eventually he settled into a conversation with Seamus and Dean who were sitting across from him. Seamus was in the middle of a huge spiel about some sort of dog-pig in a bog (or something that sounded that way) when Harry got the distinct feeling of eyes on him. Normally, he wouldn't worry about it as people tended to stare at him fairly often, but with everyone currently engrossed in catching up with each other he knew he should find who it was.

It wasn't like he could pinpoint the source exactly, of course, he wasn't Luna. However, he had a gut instinct and shot his eyes over to Malfoy.

As soon as Malfoy realised he was caught, he turned away, barking at some second year who was obviously fagging for him. The boy tripped over himself trying to gather Malfoy's stuff together and once he had Malfoy's school bag packed and organised, Malfoy yanked it violently from his hands and made his way to the doors.

As Malfoy got closer, Harry noticed that his hair wasn't perfectly coiffed as it usually was and that his skin had a barely conceivable tinge of green-grey.

Something had obviously put stress on the seemingly un-stressable Draco Malfoy and Harry realised with a sinking feeling that it probably had something to do with Voldemort.

Everything usually did.

Potions was slightly more tolerable this year. Snape was no longer the professor, and Harry had the aide of the Half-Blood Prince's book. The first day of class he was rewarded for making a perfect potion, something that Hermione was still ignoring him for. Cheating, she called it.

Of course all this meant that DADA completely sucked, even though Snape was actually teaching them useful spells. Really, the fact that he was the first professor of DADA that Hogwarts had in the last few years who was actually worth a damn didn't mean anything, because he was still Snape. Miserable bastard, he was.

Herbology was as useless in Harry's eyes as ever, only worsened by the fact that he had to go to Neville for homework help. It seemed that Professor Sprout really had a thing for deadly or disgusting plants that had knacks for exploding all over Harry. He took it in stride, of course, as that was his usual luck.

However, it could be said for Herbology that the sometimes disgusting or poisonous environment was a lot more exiting than the environments of both Charms and Transfigurations combined. He was good at charms but only marginally better than acceptable at Transfigurations, just because it required focus and practised skill, neither of which Harry was really capable of these days, thanks to his life.

Voldemort was rapidly becoming more active attacking both in the Wizarding world and the Muggle world causing Harry to be more and more anxious and frustrated. It also didn't help that he had to find out this information via thrown away copies of the _Daily Prophet_, since Hermione somehow managed to successfully block his subscription and no one seemed to feel the need to tell him.

Malfoy was as vicious as ever, even to the Slytherins. Harry wouldn't give a flying leap about how Malfoy was acting if he wasn't affected by it. He had bruises all over his sides from Malfoy shoving him constantly in the hallways and got headaches every time the stupid, blonde git opened his mouth. And recently, he started giving Harry weird looks. Looks translated to Harry that Draco Malfoy apparently thought him confusing or disgusting or confusingly disgusting.

It also didn't help matters at all that no matter how hard he tried, nothing could be normal for him. His fucking hair, his love life, and, according to Malfoy and several Ravenclaw girls, his style--they were all crap. Sirius was dead, Hermione was ignoring him and Ron was wrapped up with Lavender Brown. All in all, everything was crap.

He'd seriously considered moving to Kazakhstan before he remembered that it was up to him, a sixteen year old, to save the world. Well, part of it. Either way, fate had something against him.

Harry jumped as a young girl with dark eyes and freckles bumped into him. Instinctively, he reached out to steady her. She giggled, apologised and thanked him before walking away.

"Bloody younger years," Ron muttered next to him. Since becoming a prefect, he let known the fact that he was older than most of the students at Hogwarts, except for the seventh years.

Harry nodded in agreement, not wanting to set him off.

"She was kind of cute, though." Ron added.

Harry mentally groaned. From what he learned in Muggle primary school, Ron was a bit old for puberty to have only just landed, but from the way he was obsessed with the opposite sex, it seemed more and more probable.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as Ron nudged him and muttered something. Harry just ignored him, deciding it was probably just another girl that caught his interest, and wanted some sort of affirmation.

"Potter,"

Harry froze, muscles going rigid, preparing for an attack, magical or otherwise. When an attack never came, Harry looked up.

The usual haughtiness and sneer were missing from Malfoy's expression, but his face was severe, almost as if he were in pain.

Harry blinked. "What?" He asked shortly.

Malfoy's eyes flickered from Harry to Ron and back again. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. This happened two more times before he finally said, "Excuse me," with a nod. He walked off, careful not to touch any part of Harry.

Ron spluttered and Harry did a little as well.

"What the hell just happened?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "I was hoping you would tell me."

"Fucking kid is mental," Ron decided.

"Do you think--I mean--what..." Harry couldn't even decide what to ask. "Was that bad, do you think?"

"It can't be good," Ron conceded. "But I can't decide if that was Malfoy attempting to be less than hostile, or Malfoy constipated."

Harry's head snapped around. "What?"

Ron shrugged. "Father gets a bit weird when he's constipated," Ron explained. "He gets clippy."

Harry doubted that was it. Well, he hardly doubted it, just didn't want to think about it and dismissed it outright completely. "I don't th--"

"Parvati certainly looks good this year, don't you think, Harry?" Ron cut him off, gesturing towards Parvati Patil.

Harry realised he should have been thankful that the conversation lasted as long as it had, so he followed Ron to Potions without scolding him.

As they sat down at their normal seat, Harry started to take out all of his supplies; His Potions kit, ink, quill, parchment were all in order, but he was having a bit of difficulty locating his text, which was odd considering it was a giant book and all. After looking at each book title three times, Harry decided with a sinking feeling that he'd left it in charms.

Unlike how Snape would have been in this situation, Slughorn allowed him to go retrieve it, sans insults on his intelligence and ability to function as a human.

The Potions classroom was still in the dungeons and Harry hated himself for the long trek he was forced to make, again. He tried to think back to charms, attempting to figure out when and why he would take out his potions text. He felt a bit panicky, honestly. If any one found out about his book--

He was halfway out of the dungeons when he tripped over something in the hallway. He didn't fall, but when he recovered from the stumble, he turned to look at what he'd tripped over: His Potions text.

"What the fuck?" He muttered.

"Sorry," Harry's eyes widened at the voice. "I wasn't intending for you to actually trip on it--I thought you'd see it. I guess I forgot you're an idiot."

Harry felt like his brain or his heart, or maybe his foot, something, was about to explode with a combination of anxiety, anger, curiosity and confusion. "Actually, Malfoy, when someone wears glasses, it tends to indicate they have _sight problems_. Perhaps what you didn't count on was _yourself_ being an idiot." Harry said with no little hint of indignation.

Malfoy's left eye twitched and he cleared his throat. "Right, how silly of me to assume that the glasses were there to _correct_ your vision." He opened and closed his fists in obvious agitation.

Harry shook his head. "So... You somehow managed to steal my book and make me trip over it, just to point out that I'm an idiot and debate about the superficial denotation of wearing glasses?"

Malfoy's eyes actually widened a bit and Harry hoped it was because he sounded smart. He'd never admit it, but he'd actually just strung together several words that Hermione used when trying to relay to Ron or Harry, depending on who did what and how badly, just how stupid they were.

Malfoy had that weird, confused and disgusted look on his face again. "Perhaps the former, but the latter certainly was not planned, I assure you." Malfoy's eyebrows were suddenly knitted together so harshly that Harry thought he might get a uni brow. "Actually, my intended purpose was to get a moment to talk to you, alone. I was going to ask you earlier, but I knew your little attack Weasel wouldn't give me a chance."

Harry bristled. "Despite the fact that he's not an attack-anything, Malfoy, but a friend who cares about me, unlike your giant, hulking goons, I don't think you should be worrying about what Ron would or wouldn't let you do anyway, since it would've been me who'd say no in the first place."

Malfoy's face went from knitted to annoyed in an instant and he muttered something about run-on sentences, and monkeys. Harry thought that was completely unfair. It wasn't like Hogwarts offered any grammar courses.

Malfoy cleared his throat, quickly cast a silencing charm and stepped closer, though it didn't make much difference. Hate was a repelling force between them, like that of opposite, magnetic poles. "Potter, I know I'm a bastard, but please, just at least hear me out," he begged. "My life depends on this."

Up until that point, Harry was studiously attempting to feign a disinterested, arrogant air, but the 'I know I'm a bastard,' bit made his head jerk a little and the 'my life depends on this,' part made him lose it all together. "What?"

"My life, my mother's life--it all depends on whether or not you'll even talk to me."

Harry stared blankly at Malfoy for several seconds before letting out a barking laugh. "Oh, you're taking the mickey!" Harry coughed out a few more laughs.

Malfoy slammed his fist against the wall. When he lowered his hand a few seconds later, Harry saw that it was already bruising. "Potter, I would not come grovelling to you for a joke." Malfoy looked up at Harry, his eyes shining sharply like broken mirrors. "I would never ask you for anything if my life did not depend on it."

Harry felt like Malfoy had punched him instead of the wall, the implicit insult aching. "Malfoy, even if your life did depend on it, I wouldn't help you. You're scum, and so are your parents."

Malfoy's wand was on him so fast, Harry didn't even have time to think of grabbing his own wand before Malfoy shot a freezing spell that hit with such accuracy, it burned. "You will not speak ill of my parents!" He growled, spit flying out of his mouth. With a wide flourish, Malfoy released the spell. "I know what they've done, what they do, Potter, but they are my parents, and I love them, and I will not have you defaming them in my presence, is that clear?"

Malfoy's wand was jabbing painfully into Harry's Adam's Apple. "Lower your wand Malfoy, or I swear to God, I will snap it in half."

Malfoy lowered his wand several inches but still pointed it at Harry.

Harry jerked his right arm, dislodging his own wand from its pocket in his sleeve and causing it to slide into his hand. "I can and will say whatever the hell I goddamn please about your parents; Your mother is the reason that the last person who ever loved me is dead, and her sister cast the killing curse that did it. Your father almost killed my best friend's little sister when she was eleven, and tried to kill me in a duel last year. To me, Malfoy, they will always be scum and I would never help any of them, ever."

Surprisingly, Malfoy's wand lowered again. "Sirius Black," He said, quietly.

"He was my godfather." Harry said, even though Draco hadn't asked anything.

Malfoy nodded. "Mother stayed in her room for three days when she found out it was her fault," He said. "She still won't talk to Aunt Bella."

Harry blinked. Why would Narcissa Malfoy be upset about the death of a blood-traitor, even if he was her cousin? Malfoy was probably just lying to him. "That sounds unlikely." He said.

Malfoy looked up from the ground. "Mother isn't Bellatrix, Potter, and neither is she Lucius. Black was her cousin, family, she grew up with him."

Harry snorted. "She's a Death Eater."

Malfoy shook his head. "No she isn't! She would never mar her skin with that ugly brand of slavery! Mother would never bow to a man without a mind, without a plan!" Malfoy screamed.

Harry debated this outburst, trying to decide if it were true. While he hadn't ever actually seen a mark on Narcissa Malfoy, the fact remained that he'd only ever seen her twice, both times with a cloak on.

"She loves father," Malfoy continued, quietly. "But she's not stupid."

Harry cleared his throat, and cast a _tempus_ charm. He'd already been gone for ten minutes. "Whatever," Harry growled, feeling a bit stroppy. "What the fuck is it that you want, anyway?"

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak but quickly snapped his mouth shut. He had a constipated look on his face.

"What? _What?_" Harry urged.

Malfoy looked up. "Sanctuary?" He asked.

Harry had no idea why he was asking him that so he stayed silent.

"I don't know what I want from you, Potter, or what I'm willing to trade for it. I just know that I need to keep my mother safe,"

A shadowed look went across Harry's and he made to speak, but Malfoy cut him off.

"Don't say anything about Black; Mother didn't think the information Kreacher gave her was anything, she really thought it inconsequential. The only thing she did wrong was give Kreacher the order to tell you Sirius Black was at his house if you floo'ed." Malfoy said. "She didn't expect him to be killed, Potter. He was her cousin."

"Oh, like that mattered?" Harry spat. "Have you ever been in the House of Black, Malfoy?" Harry paused, but he started talking again right as Malfoy opened his mouth. "In the drawing room on the first floor there's an entire wall covered by a tapestry depicting the Black family tree. However, there's something a bit off--I'm talking about the giant _burn holes_ where several names used to be. Ever noticed them?"

Malfoy swallowed. "I--"

"Sirius' name was burned off by his own _mother _because he _didn't agree with her_." Harry realised he was growling, but he missed Sirius, Malfoy was an arrogant, snivelling little toad, and he was so getting a detention, even if he was Harry Potter and his Potions professor was Horace Slughorn. "That's how much family meant to the Blacks, Malfoy. The fact that Sirius was her cousin meant nothing to your mother."

Malfoy shook his head shortly and laughed, his mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. "This is why I hate you so much, Potter. You're so bloody judgemental and all-knowing." He said between clenched teeth. "Yes, Great Aunt Wallaburga was my mother's aunt, but she was a crazy old bat who brewed her tea with Firewhiskey." Malfoy huffed. "Mother was older than the Black boys, but they were close. Sirius and mother would have remained so, had father not forbade her to communicate with him." Malfoy paused for a moment, attempting to smooth out the severe lines in his expression. "Even if they weren't close, Potter she doesn't deserve to die if it can be helped."

"Sirius didn't deserve to die, either," was Harry's response. He knew nothing of Sirius' childhood, to his complete regret, but he was sure most of what Malfoy was saying was complete bollocks.

"No, he didn't," Malfoy agreed. "But I can't do anything about it."

Harry knew that was true, and even if Narcissa Malfoy was the wife of an inner0circle Death Eater and the sister of another, but she was still a mother. Harry also knew what it was like not to have one and he couldn't wish that on his worst enemy, not even Draco Malfoy. "What will you do in exchange for your mother's safety?" Harry asked. "Not that I've decided one way or the other," he quickly added.

A weird spark set off in Malfoy's grey, slate eyes and traveled through his face. "Anything, Potter. Anything." He responded, slightly squeaky.

Harry mulled it over. There were hundreds of ways he wanted to rip Malfoy apart. He could order off his left arm, his head, his father, aunt... But knew he couldn't ask for anything that would hurt the stupid boy. For God's sake, he was pleading with Harry to save his mother's life, what the hell was he supposed to say? He thought about telling him to spy and swear his allegience to the Side of the Light, but he couldn't do that. If Malfoy were caught, which he probably would be, considering it was the Dark Lord he'd be spying on, the boy would be tortured, traumatised, killed... And Harry couldn't stand to be the reason for it. He'd made enough people die already.

"I know what it's like to not have parents, obviously, and as much as I hate and loathe you, I could never wish that on you." Harry said, more to the wall than to Malfoy. "However, I'll ask several things of you in return; First, you are not to spy. It's bound to be asked that you spy on the Death Eaters, but I am telling you now, if you want anything from me, you will _not_ spy."

Malfoy's face reddened. "Think I'll muck it up, do you?" He growled.

Harry wondered if Malfoy's temper had an off switch. "No, you idiot! What I _think_ is that the Dark Lord is more powerful than you and that he'll find out and rip you to pieces, and I'll have to live with it the rest of my life!" Harry shouted.

Malfoy cast another Silencing charm on top of his first. "Fair enough," he said.

"Second," Harry ground out. "You are to swear loyalty to our side."

Malfoy's face strained as he attempted to hide a grimace.

"And lastly, you are to recruit the Slytherins."

Malfoy got that constipated look again. "You want me to what?"

"Recruit... The Slytherins." Harry repeated.

"Are you mad?" Malfoy inquired. "They'll kill me!"

Harry sincerely doubted that. Malfoy couldn't have the appellation "Prince of Slytherin" without having some sort of persuasive power. "You're being ridiculous."

Malfoy gave him a pointed look and shook his head a bit. "They're Slytherins, Potter," he said, as in a way that meant it should explain everything. "Think if you went back to your den lions and try to tell them to switch to the Dark Lord's camp. Then multiply their reactions by a thousand and then factor in cunning and Dark Arts."

Harry thought about it. "Fine, then try for your friends. You don't have to succeed. Just try."

Malfoy muttered on his breath, but finally said, "Fine. As long as mother is safe."

"All right, then. I'll set up a meeting for you with Dumbledore after classes have ended."

"You're going to be there, too, right?" Malfoy asked.

Harry scoffed. "What, need me there to hold your hand, Malfoy?"

"No, of course not, you idiot!" Malfoy shouted. "It's just--you're the one I've talked to! I don't want to have to explain everything again! And, besides, I don't like Dumblebore!"

"Well, you don't like me, either, Malfoy!" Harry shouted back. "You are such a little girl!"

"You're right! I am a little girl for coming to you!" Malfoy yelled. "Just forget it! I don't want your help!"

Harry sighed and grabbed Malfoy's arm before he could turn away. "For God's sake, I take it back, all right? I'm sorry." Harry dropped his arm, feeling awkward for apologizing, especially while touching Malfoy in a conciliatory fashion. "I'm glad--" He choked slightly, unable to hold it back. "I'm glad you came to me, Malfoy."

What came out of Malfoy's mouth next was so astounding, Harry almost fell over. "Thanks," he said, no hint of sarcasm to be heard. "I'll meet you by Dumbledore's office at four." Malfoy said, and stalked off.

Harry gaped, watching as Malfoy walked off, opening and closing his mouth like a guppy.


	2. Raise

**Warnings:**** PG-13 / AU BG** **suggestive!Italics**

**A/n:** I'm totally making this up as I go along. Expect a bumpy ride and watch for sinister plot holes.

(_Yes_, I know I need a beta. _**No**_, I don't want one.)

* * *

After tantamount stress (and a rather severe migraine), Harry managed to secure an appointment with the headmaster at four. He'd wasted his entire lunch hour securing the time, and he'd almost been late as well, since Malfoy chose a time directly after the end of classes. He was red in the face and hating everything by the time he made it to the giant gargoyle.

Malfoy had been waiting and huffed at Harry disdainfully, who tried to discreetly whisper the password, but with no luck.

Harry hated Malfoy a little more as he watched the blonde gracefully step onto the staircase after Harry himself had barely managed not to fall as he jumped up to first stair.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was delightful and sparkly as ever, smiling in a way that promised sudden and severe outbursts of insanity. These outbursts never made it to fruition however, and as such, Harry figured the headmaster was suffering from extreme levels of toxicity caused from withholding them. It would explain several characteristics of the headmaster, such as his seemingly constant digestion of tea and lemon drops and his knack for being simultaneously ostentatiously difficult and omnipotent.

Harry flicked his teacup with agitation as Dumbledore smiled serenely at Malfoy.

Malfoy had been droning on for the last ten minutes about why he should be accepted into Dumbledore's ranks, and puking promises that he was through with his father and his "skewed ideals". A part of Harry was rooting him on, while another was shouting "Bullshit!"

Altogether, it was a mentally painful circumstance.

As Malfoy continued to talk, Harry watched him, becoming bored with torturing his teacup.

Malfoy was very contradictory in his demeanour, Harry decided after watching him for several minutes. He was awkward, yet regal. The way he sat on the edge of his chair, feet tucked under him and back set rigidly straight showed he was polished, sophisticated, yet made the air around him stiff and cold and made Harry feel distinctly lower. Asshole.

Harry's elbow slipped off the arm of his chair, startling him. He rubbed at it, his funny bone rankling.

"Potter?" Malfoy called.

Harry looked up, lost. "Yes?"

"The rules we agreed upon?" Malfoy prompted.

"What?" Harry squinted, still rubbing at the pain in his elbow. "Oh, right, our agreement."

"Yes, precisely." Malfoy drawled in a voice that rang with a distinct likeness to Lucius Malfoy's.

Harry made a face. He hated Malfoy, hated him. He attempted to wipe the disgusted look off his face as he fixed his attention on Dumbledore but it was hard, as Dumbledore's robes were a violent shade of vomit that burned his eyes a bit. "I decided he's not to spy for us," Harry glanced towards Malfoy and said, pointedly, "Not because I think he's too weak or unskilled but because Voldemort is nearly omniscient."

"You've asked him not to spy?" Dumbledore interjected with a glint in his eye and a distinctly interested edge to his voice. "Surely, you wouldn't mind risking a potential threat's life for information?"

Malfoy's head snapped away from whatever he was looking at before and fixed a negative glare on the headmaster.

Harry felt a bit surprised as well, but only slightly, as it was Dumbledore after all. "I think that's rather objective; I'd risk Wormtail, for example, but that's because he's more experienced, if a bit weak. Malfoy, on the other hand, isn't and I think that if we sent him to spy on Voldemort it'd be homicide, and that's not what we're about."

"Indeed!" Dumbledore agreed heartily. "I must say, Harry, I am rather impressed with this decision, if a bit disappointed with the result. At this point, with war on the horizon, information is everything." Dumbledore frowned a bit and took a sip of tea. "The right information is the preservation of a life, perhaps several; However, ends do not always justify means and I am glad you understand killing is hardly justifiable."

"Yes, sir." Harry smiled. "I've also asked that Malfoy swear allegiance to our side, as well as attempt to recruit the Slytherins."

"Recruit the Slytherins?" Dumbledore asked, his mouth set at an angle.

"Yes, sir. Over the past few weeks, I've realised that fighting faceless opponents is difficult, but nothing compared to fighting against names and faces. I've realised that I probably couldn't fight against a classmate. This is partially why I agreed to help Malfoy in the first place. I hate that the enemy are my classmates and schoolmates."

"Understandable, my dear boy." Dumbledore agreed. "However, I don't think this is such a good idea. Pardon me for this, Mr Malfoy, but Slytherins are a rash group who are devoted to their cause. Not all of them are Voldemort supporters, and they'll stay that way, just as the supporters will never stop supporting. I fear that by attempting to recruit, Mr Malfoy will only alienate himself and cause uprising in the House of Slytherin."

Harry huffed. There was always uprising in the house of Slytherin. Only last week, Harry had heard that several duels had broken out between the girls of the house. Over Blaise Zabini. "Um," Harry replied. "Right."

"How do you feel, Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked.

_"Who cares?"_ Harry thought.

"I pretty much told him the same thing myself, sir." Harry made faces at him. "I compromised and told him I'd attempt to recruit my closest friends." Malfoy had cottoned on to the face making if the sudden, vivid shade of crimson attacking his face after glancing toward Harry was anything to go by. "But I think it'd be safer for them if they didn't know."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, sagely nodding his head. It was making Harry sick. Several minutes passed while Dumbledore ruminated on something.

Harry pretended like Malfoy wasn't giving him looks.

"Draco," Dumbledore addressed the blonde. "I'll agree to safeguard your mother, under a strict set of regulations that, if deviated from, will result in severe consequences, id est time in Azkaban. Our side cannot chance the leak of any information. Furthermore, you and your mother will both be asked to make unbreakable vows of loyalty. Whether you chose to take them or not is up to you, though I cannot guarantee safety without them. A vow of secrecy will be asked for as well." Dumbledore made a wand movement, and their teacups were refilled. The plate of ginger biscuits was also refreshed, the new biscuits steaming with heat. "It is not that I don't trust your sincerity, Draco, but that I do not trust the sincerity and integrity of others who could manipulate you."

"Yes, sir," Malfoy acknowledged, his voice hinted with the smallest edge of annoyance.

"There is something else I'd like to ask of you; however, this is something that is completely optional." Malfoy twisted his lips and swallowed. The headmaster steadfastly ignored it and turned to Harry. "Harry, this will affect you as well, though you have no choice in the matter if Draco accepts."

Harry's head snapped up at that. Dumbledore's gaze was stern and he looked away, muttering, "How is that anything new?"

Either the headmaster did not hear this, or he ignored it, just like he ignored Malfoy.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked shortly.

Dumbledore smiled. Harry prepared for the worst. "I have a task for the both of you. A task that is required if we wish to ever vanquish the Dark Lord forever. It will be very dangerous but it is necessary and crucial, and far too delicate for us to hand over to the Aurors."

Malfoy snorted at that. "Well, what is it, then?"

"That I cannot tell you, not until you've taken your vows." The sparkle was back in Dumbledore's eyes, most likely because Malfoy, like Harry, was dying to know just what could be so important. It was a fault of many teenagers, curiosity.

And unfortunately, was a known killer of cats. Or so they said.

"That's hardly fair!" Malfoy said, but the gears were about to explode right out of his head.

"I don't see how," Dumbledore smiled back at him. "All you need to know is that it might very well kill you; What the task specifically entails hardly makes a difference."

Harry hated logic. But seeing Malfoy squirm made up for it.

"I'll think about it," Was all Malfoy said. "But I'd very much like to start putting everything else into action." Malfoy swallowed and fiddled with his tea, which had been refilled twice already. "I was supposed to be marked this past weekend." Malfoy drew the sleeve of his left arm up. "As you can see, I didn't show up."

Harry regarded the colour of Malfoy's skin. Unlike his face, which someone could mistake for having a touch of colour, his arms were utterly and completely the colour of clouds on a bright day. The veins in his wrist looked like blue lightning, vivid to the point of being electric.

The skin was blank, more importantly.

"I told my mother to hide. She knows as well as I do that the Dark Lord will seek punishment, doubly so since my father got himself arrested." Malfoy pulled his sleeve back down. "Even though she's hiding, Aunt Bella's always been skilled at finding her. I'm scared it's only a matter of time before she's found."

"Very well," Dumbledore stood. "Can you contact her?"

Harry saw Malfoy glance at him from the corner of his eye.

"Um, yes. I can." He said, rather vaguely.

"Owl post?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Er, no..." Malfoy pulled something out of his pocket and laid it down on Dumbledore's desk.

Harry would never forget what it was. Draco Malfoy had just pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket.

Harry bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, flapping his arms. He was trying to fly.

"What are you doing, mate?" Asked a very confused Weasley, stepping into their dorm.

Harry flapped his arms harder. He gave up after a few seconds. "Trying to fly away." He said, conceding.

Ron smiled. "Fly away? You have a broom for that."

"Yeah. But I'm not supposed to fly away." Harry said.

"Um, yeah. That's true. Wizard's aren't supposed to fly away." Ron scrunched up his nose. "Well, most Wizards. Snape can fly, but that's probably because he's a vampire and turns into a bat."

"Snape can _fly_?" Harry asked. "Snape's _a vampire_?"

Ron plopped onto his bed, laughing. "It's true he can fly. But I was just kidding about the vampire part."

Harry nodded. "Are there such things as vampires?" Hell, unicorns were real.

Ron looked at him like he was stupid. "Of course there are, Harry."

Harry glared at Ron. "Well, how the hell was I supposed to know? I was raised as a Muggle. Everything I do here is imaginary in the real--in the Muggle world." Harry knitted his eyebrows. Which was the real world? Was there a real world?

Which world was his?

Ron looked abashed. "Sorry, Harry. I wasn't thinking." Ron sat up. "But that doesn't explain why you were trying to fly away when... You're not supposed to."

"Oh, that." Harry started bouncing on his feet again. "I have to tell you something. Something you'll probably hate me for. So I don't really want to tell. Which is why I was trying to fly away without a broom. Because I need to tell you, but I don't really want to, and I think that if I actually flew away, then it'd be fate that you shouldn't know. At least not now."

Ron stared at him, and this time Harry didn't blame him. "What?"

"I let Draco Malfoy join our side." Harry said.

"What?" Ron repeated.

Harry looked across the dorm towards a poster of some quidditch star. A seeker, by the markings on the uniform. Puddlemere, by the colours.

The seeker winked at him.

"Malfoy. Remember when he came up to us the other day in the hall?" Harry waited for Ron to acknowledge he remembered. "He was trying to ask me if... If I would protect him mother."

"His moth--Harry, she killed--"

Harry shook his head violently. "Don't even say it!" Harry shouted, cutting him off.

Ron shook his head. "But--"

"If anyone killed him that night, it was a combination of me, Bellatrix and Voldemort!" Ron tried to say something again, but Harry knew he'd already heard it before. "Malfoy... He's... I don't even know! But I want to help him! I have to help him!" Harry realised he was yelling. "I don't know anything about Sirius, but I'm sure... He'd help his family if they came to him." Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "Besides which, he has to swear an unbreakable vow of loyalty and a vow of secrecy." Harry looked back to Ron.

Ron looked like he was sucking on a lemon that had been marinated in vinegar. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, hands awkwardly folded in his lap, and with that puckered expression spread across his face. "What... did he tell you to make you agree?"

"I haven't been tricked or manipulated if that's what you're thinking, Ron." Harry bit out. "I admit, I feel sympathetic towards the situation with his mother; I know what it's like to lose a parent, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even Malfoy." Ron looked like he was about to go off in a Hermione-esque tirade about how he shouldn't let the loss of his parents dictate his actions (though with less eloquence and manners than Hermione), so Harry held up his hand. "I said I'd admit that. I won't lie about it. But that's not why I agreed. I agreed because... I can't... I can't watch him die."

Ron stood up. "What... What are you saying?" Ron's face was suddenly as red as his hair and his jumper. "Are you involved with Malfoy? Have you been friends with him behind our backs?!" He shouted.

"Of course not!" Harry shouted back, suddenly angry as well. "Don't you get it?"

"No, I don't!" Ron yelled.

Tears were starting to well up in Harry's eyes, his frustration palpable. No one understood. He'd watched so many people die! He'd already explained it to Dumbledore, and now he had to explain to his best friend?

Various loose items around the room were beginning to shiver. "How do you not understand? You've never seen anyone die!"

"Sirius--" Ron started to growl out.

"You didn't see it! I saw it! You were busy running away!"

"Running away?! I was fi--" A vein Harry had never seen before was protruding from Ron's forehead.

"You didn't see it!" Harry screamed. "I did! Just like I saw my parents! Just like I saw Cedric!"

Ron didn't say anything more, but he was flexing his fists dangerously.

"I don't care if Malfoy's a prat! I can't watch him die too!" Harry shouted. "The only person I want to see die before my eyes ever again is Voldemort!" Harry was twitching, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. "It's a war, Ron... We have to kill. But can you kill your classmates?" He concentrated on breathing and speaking quieter.

The angry red blush of Ron's face changed to a dramatic white.

"We're not fighting a faceless enemy, Ron, not just Voldemort either, not anymore. We're fighting against faces, names, voices. We're fighting against people we've grown up with." The trembling objects slowly became static again. "It's not fair. We're just kids. They're just kids. But it's real, and I'll do anything I can to make it a little better."

Ron looked away from Harry. "War..." He said in a cracked voice.

Harry wanted to smash something, tear a rock into strips like it's paper. "We're saving lives. We're saving people." Harry stared at the ceiling. "I don't like Malfoy, but I don't want him to die, either."

"I know, Harry." Ron looked at him. "I get it."

After their dramatic row, neither Ron nor Harry could stay in the dorm. Ron had bolted out, claiming something involving a girl, which Harry couldn't help but grudgingly admit it was probably true.

Unlike Harry, who had just bolted straight to the moving staircases without any plans at all, running down them at top speed, and jumping when they hadn't yet connected. When he got to the first floor, he kept running, right out the doors.

He ran through the grass, ran past Hagrid's hut, past the Whomping Willow and into the woods. He ran and ran and ran until his feet hit soft, white sand.

Harry collapsed to the shore of a small lake, grabbing fistfuls of sand. "Sirius," he cried as the sand slipped through his fingers. "Sirius..."

Dinner that night was a strangled affair.

Ron and Harry were cordial at best and Hermione was fit to erupt with The Need to Know. Harry had asked her to pass the pudding, but she refused to hand it to him unless he promised to explain everything later. He did. It was inevitable that she'd find out anyway, and he really wanted the pudding besides.

Ginny was staring at him again, and he could feel her eyes. The effect was sticky and set him on edge. It wasn't that he didn't like her--Okay, so it was, but one could only stand so much doting and obsession before it got annoying. In fact, if she just treated him like all the other girls did (which mostly involved staunch ignorance of his existence romantically) he could possibly grow to like her. She was, after all, very attractive and fit. In fact, most of the boys in Gryffindor tower had trouble not noticing just how... _Fit_ she was. Especially in the... _Pectorals_.

She was also a fine quidditch player, something else Harry couldn't ignore, especially since she was on his team.

None of it mattered though, as she was hardly a conversationalist when it came to talking to Harry (although talking _about_ Harry was a totally different matter). He hardly knew anything about her, except that whenever she was around him, she was reduced to wide, moony eyes and a severe case of excess saliva.

It was quite disgusting.

Something peculiar, Neville was sticking particularly close to him, throwing fearful glances all around him as though one of Luna's creatures had escaped again.

Harry frowned.

"Wotcher, Neville." He said to the dark haired boy.

"Wotcher." He replied in a small voice.

Mm, that didn't bode well. "What's wrong?"

Neville looked up at him. "Nothing, just... Was tripped earlier."

Harry patted him stiffly on the back, failing as far as consolation went. "Hex them next time."

"Actually," Neville put down his fork which was en route to his mouth. "I did."

Harry's head almost snapped right off his neck. "You... What?"

"Ginny taught me her Bat Bogey hex," Neville said. "But naturally, I botched it up. Malfoy's still in the infirmary."

Harry's mouth was hanging open wide enough to catch birds. Forget flies.

"Seems I tore his nose right off his face... I don't know how that happened... Lost fifty points too..."

A grin was tearing through Harry's mouth, and soon enough his cheeks were about to split in two from the sheer force of his smile. He started laughing, so hard that he couldn't breathe. So hard that he choked.

"Neville!" Harry screeched towards the dark haired boy who was rapidly transforming into the grossest shade of puce. "You're my hero!"

After a moment, Neville started laughing as well, and so did Ron and Hermione after Harry told them what happened, and pretty soon the entire Gryffindor table was laughing as the story spread like wild fire, followed by an impromptu and rather dubious serenade of "For he's a jolly good fellow!"

The rest of the Great Hall was staring at the table in abject horror, until Seamus got atop it and told the story between bubbles of laughter.

The Ravenclaw table tried to hold back, but Luna's barking laughter set them all off, while Hufflepuff stared at the Slytherin table in relative terror and they stared doom right back.

It took five house points and a Sonorous laden Dumbledore to get the Great Hall back into a semblance of order.

Harry tugged Hermione aside in the common room while everyone was distracted, still congratulating Neville for ripping Malfoy's nose off.

Hermione was sucking her lip like it'd fall off if she didn't.

Harry often ruminated about the rather peculiar case of Hermione Granger; She was a brilliant girl, perhaps the brightest he'd ever met, who ignored material and superficial things and dedicated herself to love, friendship and books. Mainly books. However, when the smallest nugget of gossip was dangled in front of her face, she'd snap at it like a crocodile grabbing for a piece of meat.

Harry was torn between this being a malfunction, a glitch if you will, in the wiring of her psyche, or if, perhaps, it was an indiscriminate affliction that affected all women. He was leaning towards the latter.

"Er," Harry was cautious. Too much too soon could cause an explosion inside Hermione's mind so large that it could potentially tear at the very fabric of time and space. "I've. Sort of. Let Malfoy join our camp."

Her lip burst forth from her mouth with a wet pop, dewy shrapnel erupting from the sheer violence and rapidity of the discharge.

"Yeah..." Harry surreptitiously wiped a drop of spit off his cheek.

"Malfoy... Draco Malfoy?" She asked.

"The one and only." Harry replied, rubbing his neck. Her eyes were glassy and slightly bugging out of her head; Harry forgave her. These were pretty big happenings. "He kind of... Skipped his marking ceremony and Voldemort's none too pleased."

"Skipped... His... Marking cere--Oh!" She yelped the last word mid sentence, which unsettled Harry a little. "And Voldemort's going to kill him!" Hermione whisper-shouted, clapping her hands over her mouth.

Harry cast a blanketing _silencio_ and hated himself a little for not casting it earlier. "Actually, he's not worried about that, he's more worried about his mother. Apparently Voldemort already had it out for him since his father got himself thrown in jail, and Malfoy thinks Voldemort'll go for his mother."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I see. But you don't think this is a ploy to infiltrate our side?"

"Even if it was, Dumbledore's making both he and his mother make an unbreakable vow of loyalty and a secrecy vow." Harry explained. "So it wouldn't matter either way."

"And you don't care that it's a possibility?" Hermione asked.

"No, not really. Malfoy and I--we talked." Harry scratched his head. "I can't watch him die."

Hermione rubbed his arm. "I know, Harry, I know. But this is war."

"I know that better than anyone, Hermione." He bit out.

Her face crumpled a bit. She reached up and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry Harry. I know."

Harry smiled at her. He might not have a mother, but he had Hermione and that helped.

"As long as it's what you want to do, Harry, I support you. I always will." She beamed up at him. "I'm guessing this is why our favourite red head is acting all moody? Not man enough to get over it?"

"Yeah. I can understand where he's coming from, but I wish he'd just trust me. It didn't help that we got in a huge fight." Harry waited for the words to hit Hermione's brain.

"Fight!" She exclaimed.

"Um, yeah, it didn't go over that well. The argument ended with us on the same page, but the whole thing kind of... Put us off a little."

Hermione made a clicking noise with her tongue. "Oh, it'll blow over Harry, you know it will."

"Yeah, I hope so."

Harry had no idea where he was. He just knew that he'd skipped dinner and he was nauseous. His only concession was that Malfoy looked just as miserable.

The room they were in were in wasn't really a room, but a cave. Or, so he deduced. The whole interior was a dark, slick charcoal and the ceiling was dripping. It was drafty and cold and his breath was echoing.

His only consolation was that Malfoy appeared to be just as miserable as he was. "Where are we?"

"I can't tell you," Dumbledore replied from across the room. "This is a secret location."

Harry jumped, his hands shooting up into the air, when a pop sounded beside him. "Ah!"

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry." Apologised the cause of the pop.

Narcissa Malfoy, who'd Harry had always seen as offensive and cold, was a shell of her former self. Her hair was perfectly done, as was her makeup, but it did nothing to hide the shadows in her face and the cragginess of her bones. Harry didn't want to dwell on what could possibly turn such a proud woman into this fragile, apologetic thing.

"Mother," Malfoy nodded at her after Dumbledore greeted her with a slight bow of his head and a formal, "Good evening, Lady Malfoy."

"Headmaster," she bowed back. "Please, call me Narcissa."

The whole thing was entirely stiff.

"I'm sure Draco has explained everything to you?" Dumbledore asked.

Narcissa nodded. "He has, headmaster. I understand that I am to take vows of both secrecy and allegiance and that I am to obey you."

"Indeed." Dumbledore acknowledged. "Very well! Shall we begin?"

Watching the unbreakable vow was something that Harry had never seen done before. He was rather fascinated by the way the spell light twined out and wrapped around the conjoined hands. It lit up the pale Malfoys' faces in an eerie manner.

The secrecy vow was far more boring, no spell light at all. The incantation was such severe Latin that Harry couldn't ever repeat it even if he tried.

"We have set up a safe location for you, Narcissa. The first thing you'll notice is that there are no exits nor any entrances and as such, owl mail is impossible. I am the only person who can get in and out of the location, though I have spells set up to alert and inform a confidante in the instance of my death." Dumbledore detailed. "There are anti-apparition wards, and the floo line is disabled as well." He smiled and cleared his throat. "I hope you understand that this is all just a precaution, both for your safety and ours."

"I understand completely, headmaster." Narcissa said, no emotion discernible in her voice. This was a skill that her son had obviously not inherited.

"Good, though I'm sure you'll hardly notice any of it." The headmaster told her. "The actual place in which you'll be staying is rather small physically, but I've configured it with wizard space and a gamut of glamours."

Harry didn't have the vaguest idea what any of that actually entailed. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore smiled at him. "From within the safe location, it appears as a large cottage in the Lake District." Like the tents at the World Cup, Harry realised. "I didn't want you to feel as though you were in a prison," Dumbledore directed at Malfoy's mother.

"That is very kind of you," She replied with another bow of her head.

It was almost as though Harry was watching pack animals, the weaker showing obedience to the dominant. It was slightly sickening.

The exchange continued for several more minutes with Dumbledore explaining the rules Narcissa was to follow. In short, she basically wasn't allowed contact with the outside world, aside from people Dumbledore sent and her son.

The cave turned out to be the safe location. Dumbledore had pressed his palm against the stone wall of the cave, saying some spell that was completely garbled to Harry's ears. After he finished the incantation, every inch of the cave began to glow and continued to glow brighter, until it was so blinding, they were forced to close their eyes.

When Harry opened his, he was standing in the middle of a meadow, breeze tousling his hair as he stared at the grandest cottage he'd ever seen. It looked like it was straight from the pages of a fairytale; A cottage garden wrapped around the whole thing, filled with flowers and leaves every colour of the rainbow. A stream ran alongside the left of the cottage with a small bridge crossing over it into a vegetable garden. To the right of the little house were orchards with all different types of fruit.

"We'll be providing you with food, of course, though you have everything here you need to survive on, should an emergency situation arrive." Dumbledore's voice interrupted Harry's rumination. "There's also a cellar filled with stores of various items, like preserves and even potions."

Dumbledore led them up a grassy path to the front door and stopped. "If you look around you, it seems as though the land and lakes roll on forever," He began. "However, if you wander far enough, you'll find that you suddenly hit a wall. Remember that this is not real."

They entered the door into an entry way. The inside of the cottage was felt warm, calm, homey and Harry suspected charms were behind the feelings.

From the entry way, there were two ways into the house. To the left, Harry saw a library that had three levels with a desk each of the top levels and a large, wooden table on the first. Candelabras were everywhere, as well.

The way they took lead into a large sitting area that looked like the Gryffindor common room, sans all the Gryffindor paraphernalia. The walls were covered in a thick, emerald satin that was emblazoned with a repeating gold pattern. There was a large piano catercorner to a fireplace, and large, rounded sofa in a crimson so deep, it was almost black. The large room was filled with hutches and trunks and trinkets and all sorts of things all about the room. Altogether, none of it was what Harry was expecting to be inside the cottage, but Dumbledore had designed it, after all.

There was a spiral staircase in one corner. Dumbledore explained that it lead to a suite of several bedrooms as well as a common room for all of them to share, much like the one down stairs.

Harry suspected that this was the fall-back location of Grimmauld Place, should anything happen. He could find no other explanation for the vast library and all the bedrooms.

Dumbledore also pointed out a which lead to the cellar and kitchen.

Harry was standing in the middle of the hallway upstairs. He was trying to stay awake, trying to avoid staring at the bedrooms. They all looked so welcoming. After two hours of explaining and laying out everything for Malfoy's mother, Harry was tuckered. It was already late when their meeting had started, and now he wasn't going to get any sleep before classes the next day and that would put him in a frightful mood.

He turned around and walked, trying to locate Dumbledore so that he could beg and plead to be returned to Hogwart's and get some bloody sleep.

He ran straight into something warm and conceded that yes, perhaps trying to sleep and walk at the same time was not a good idea.

"Dammit, Potter, what the hell is your problem!" The thing shouted at him.

Harry groaned. He was having a nightmare. "Why is it that out of all the things I could have bumped into, it had to be you?"

"Because I have retched luck." Malfoy answered.

Harry laughed and then swallowed air. It hurt going down, like he'd swallowed a rock. Did he just laugh at something Malfoy said?

"Did you just laugh at an insult?" Malfoy asked him.

Harry looked at Malfoy's face and wanted to laugh again. It was twisted in a half-baked smile turned grimace. "I am tired."

"And insane." Malfoy added.

Harry nodded. Everyone knew it anyway.

"Listen, Potter," Malfoy suddenly demanded. "I know you hate me, and I understand why. You're not my favourite person, either, but I'm getting over it." Harry felt an onslaught of nausea. What was Malfoy starting on about now? And why when he was so fucking tired? "I was thinking that, perhaps, if you're mature enough to actually agree to it, we could start over." Another wave of nausea hit Harry and he was barely listening to what Malfoy was saying. "I'm not asking for us to be bloody pals or anything, just civil."

"What?" Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was going to puke.

"Potter? You're looking a bit green." Malfoy observed.

"I think I'm going to vomit," he replied.

Malfoy's face was suddenly covered in panic. "What? Oh, God_, please don't_." Harry moaned in response. "Wait! Just--just wait a minute." Malfoy had his wand out and was _accio'ing _something, though Harry didn't hear what it was. Whatever it was Malfoy caught it as it sailed through the air, and started shoving it in Harry's face. "Drink this." He was saying.

Harry drank it and belatedly realised as the searing burn attacked every orifice in his face and burned it's way down to his stomach, that he should have never drank anything Malfoy handed him. Even if the nausea, admittedly, disappeared. "Yagh!" Harry yelled. "What the fuck _was_ that?!"

Malfoy looked at him oddly. "A nausea draught." He said.

"God, that was absolutely terrible! Were you trying to kill me?" Harry rubbed wildly at his nose which was stinging as though he'd just snorted a litre of the spicy mustard from that Chinese take away Dudley loved so much.

"You've never had a nausea draught before?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

Harry cleared his throat. It still burned. "Not unless you count Pepto-bismal. Though that was pretty awful as well, in it's own right."

"I have no idea what that is." Malfoy admitted.

"You wouldn't." Harry agreed.

"So," Malfoy segued. "Did you catch any of what I said before that rather dramatic display?"

"I actually have a feeling that what you were saying is somehow directly linked to the onslaught, as I did catch a few words." Harry answered. "Though, it might have all been a horrible hallucination."

"You really are an arsehole," Malfoy mumbled. "And I really should take this all as a sign not to push it, but..." Malfoy held out his hand. "I'd like to start over."

Harry could feel the nausea warring with the draught and winning. He wished he could just freeze time, consort with Ron and Hermione. He wished they were there to tell him what shaking Malfoy's hand would mean. But he couldn't and they weren't there. So he took Malfoy's hand, deciding it'd be easier to undo than trying to fix _not_ shaking Malfoy's hand.

"Thanks, Potter."

That nausea really was a fighter. "_CallmeHarry_," he said out of the corner of his mouth, garbling it all.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"I said," Harry took a deep breath. "Call me 'Harry'."

Malfoy stared at him in horror. "Why?" He asked, as though Harry had suggest he do something perverted, like kiss the Giant Squid.

"Because," Harry wanted to go to bed. "People who get along usually don't call each other by their surnames."

Malfoy's mouth was spread across his face in a grotesque way. "Er, all right, then. I guess... You can call me Draco."

Now that it was the other way around, Harry indeed saw the problem. Calling Malfoy '_Draco_' did seem a little bit gross. "Right."

"Right."

"So, er... I'm going to go find Dumbledore." Harry sidestepped his way around _Draco_.

"You do that," _Draco_ nodded.

For the next week, Harry desperately avoided Malfoy and Malfoy him. Ever since they had "reconciled" the air between them was thick.

However, Dumbledore and they had agreed on a date to discuss Malfoy (if he accepted) and Harry's task and so, waiting outside Dumbledore's office, they were forced to regard each other.

"Hi," Malfoy greeted.

"Hi," Harry greeted back, hating himself for getting their five minutes early and hating Malfoy doubly so for doing the same.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "How are you?"

"Well," Harry cleared his throat. It felt like he'd swallowed a hair ball. "How--how are you?"

"Just the same." Malfoy fiddled with his tie. "Do you think we should go up?"

"Yes," Harry said quickly.

When they got into the office, Dumbledore greeted them in a jovial manner that seemed forced and made Harry slightly on edge. Hardly anything ever upset the headmaster.

"Good evening, boys." Dumbledore greeted in a tired voice. "Tea? Biscuit?"

Harry shook his head while Malfoy offered a more polite, "No, thank you."

"Have you decided whether or not you'd like to take on my task?" Well, that didn't take long, Harry thought.

Malfoy shifted in his seat. "I feel obligated to, sir."

"This is your choice, Draco," Dumbledore said severely. "I will not hold anything against you, should you decline. Your life is not something to give away out of obligation."

"Honestly, sir," Malfoy fiddled with his sleeves, pulling at threads. "I think I need the distraction."

Dumbledore nodded and broadened his gaze from Malfoy to both of them. "There is a reason, Harry, that Draco has a choice in this and you do not," Harry had forgotten about that part, mostly because he never really had a choice in anything. "That is because this is the last step to taking down Voldemort."

Harry was glad he had refused tea as he began to choke on his own saliva.


End file.
